Irreparably Broken
by whitherthen
Summary: The night between Smashed and Wrecked.


TITLE: Irreparably Broken  
AUTHOR: isisgoddess2000  
SPOILERS: Through Smashed.  
SUMMARY: The night between Smashed and Wrecked.  
FEEDBACK: Yes please!  
DISCLAIMER: Joss, Mutant Enemy, Fox, etc. own all, not me.  
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask first.

"To be buried alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality. ...A certain period elapses and some unseen mysterious principle again sets in motion the magic pinions and the wizard wheels. The silver cord was not for ever loosed, nor the golden bowl irreparably broken. But where, in the meantime, was the soul?"

--Edgar Allen Poe, The Premature Burial.

There was nothing. No shape, color or light: the absence of darkness. It just was. She was. No regret, no hope, no yearning for more. No lingering questions or doubts. Steady peace. No thought of the past, no worry for the future. Wrapped in the warmth of those she had once grieved for, bathed in the knowledge that all loved ones would arrive eventually. But there was no conscious thought. Only the calm, steady fulfillment of purpose. Timeless, faceless, ageless, all as it should be.

A vortex opened. A swirling black mass screeching emotion: love, hate, pity, rage, passion, grief, loss, death – LIFE. That word throbbed over the din, assaulting the peace, deconstructing her calm. Memories clawed their way in, bringing fear and regret. All of her essence rebelled against the attack. A familiar, comforting energy joined the fight to keep her on this plane. Demanding its will be met, the dark void won the battle. As her very being was wrenched away, she found a voice. One word embodying such anguish that even the Higher Beings took notice. "Mom!"

She struggled, but to no avail. She had been forced back into its broken shell, and conscious thought invaded. Piercing, racing, won't slow, can't stop. Suddenly her senses awoke, and all thought was rendered insignificant. Limbs were heavy, hot, under tremendous pressure. Ears picked up a horrendous gurgling, sucking noise. Smell and taste returned simultaneously as a putrid stench overtook nose, mouth, and lungs upon the first breath. Eyes sprung open to confirm what her body already knew. Satin concealed the cruel box. _Dead. That smell. Me. My rotted body._ The thought bit into her brain, bleeding incoherent panic. _Putrid dead-rot corpse. Infected air. Trapped with this smell... _Fingers clawed and ripped at the lining, fists smashed through wood. Pain did not register as moist earth filled the coffin. _No. No. Get out. Getoutgetoutgetout GET OUT!_

Buffy sat up, breath shuddering in her chest, eyes squeezed shut. She wished she could make the tears come. The slayer inhaled sharply and her eyes flew open. Turning her head to the side, she found her field of vision filled with pale skin, white-blonde hair, and eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. "Bad dream." She muttered, covering her face with her hands. But not quick enough. Not before she saw him wince. Cold hands gently tugged at hers, willing her gaze to meet his again. Buffy fought for control, but that lower lip started to tremble. Drawing closer, Spike placed an arm around her back.

"You can let it out, luv." He whispered into her ear. The Slayer chuckled, but stopped short as the full weight of irony crumbled her last reserve. Her body went limp against his and painful sobs wracked her tiny frame. A pile of rubble supported Spike as he leaned back and pulled Buffy into his lap. Tears burned their way down hollow cheeks and lungs throbbed with exertion, as if her body had forgotten how to cry.

Jumbled thoughts and images pounded her brain, leading back to the dream. The dream that was a reality. The horrific freshness wouldn't fade, each sense reminded in sleep. She had spent the latter part of her life in cemeteries, crypts, sewers, but the smell of her own decomposition was incomprehensible. It refused to dissipate; it lingered as an ever present reminder.

"I still smell the grave," she gasped, and shuddered against Spike's chest, "I can taste that box." Buffy's mind spun at her own candor. She pulled away and met his eyes, startled to see them brimming with tears. The emotion in his face gave her the confidence to whisper the question she had longed to ask.

"Do you smell it? Can you taste it?" Without warning Spike's mouth was on hers, tongue searching and retreating. Buffy's mind went momentarily and blissfully blank. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her body away roughly. His answer was barely audible, "I taste Buffy, nothing else."

A sad smile crossed her lips, and she purposely avoided his eyes, afraid of what she would see in them. That stray thought nagged at the back of her mind, urging her to lay back and feel his body over hers, to open up and draw back her knees, to let him take her gently – the way she knew he longed to. But that couldn't happen; it would damage him too horribly when morning came.

Instead she straddled him, hands splayed out on his chest. Steeling herself, she braved a look into his eyes. Dulled hope danced around Spike's pupils; she could practically hear him switch gears. He sat up and trapped her mouth brusquely, bruising her lips. Buffy raked her nails over his skin, her blood rising. His hands grasped her shoulders once more, without tenderness. The pain caused her to wince, and to tremble slightly in anticipation.

Buffy's skin glistened with sweat as her battle to regain control raged. Lifting her head from Spike's chest, she pretended not to see how his eyes searched hers for more. "I hate them for what they did." She stated clearly, lifting herself up. Buffy settled on her side, back to Spike, just out of reach. Squeezing her eyes shut again, she ignored the sting of tears when she felt the leather skirt being draped over her body. His hand lingered on her shoulder for no more than a moment. Spike settled no less than an arms-length away, but no part of his body touched hers. Slayer Sense told her that he lay facing her, eyes open and steady. Buffy slowly drifted into unfettered sleep.


End file.
